“I know you and that fucker are ball busters. Am I supposed to be scared?”
Pax shifts next to me, losing his temper. With his bright blue eyes shining all over the fucking place like a kid on Christmas day, my brother doesn’t really look pissed until he’s already hacking away at some fool. Yet I feel Pax’s rising anger.
“What do you want to happen here?” I ask Nick.
“I want a little fucking respect. I want to be acknowledged for what I bring to the table.”
Pax snorts. “You think you’re special, asshole? You sell drugs to stupid people. My morning dump can do what you do without needing a pat on the fucking back or an attaboy.”
Nick glares at Pax before focusing on me. “You ever hear of Samson?”
“Is this a long story?” Pax sighs.
“Hey, pretty boy,” Nick says, banging on the table again. “You and your long hair.”
Pax yanks on my shoulder length brown hair. “It’s not that long and he’s not that pretty.”
I grin at my brother. My smiles fades when I realize Nick still wants to tell his damn story.
“In the Bible, Samson was a big time warrior with long hair. The hair was his power and when it got cut, he was powerless. I wonder if the same thing will happen to you.”
“First you call me pretty,” I mutter, “and now you’re digging my hair. Shit, are you coming onto me? I don’t swing that way, man. If I did, I’d aim higher.”
“Diva,” Pax says, but Nick’s on the move.
“I’m going to cut off that fucking hair and keep it as a souvenir,” he growls, jumping to his feet. “I’ll show it off at parties when I tell people I beat the shit out of Crawford and Paxton Reed.”
“Let’s do this outside then,” I say, standing up. “The girls in here are skittish ever since that pissed wife showed up with a stick of dynamite.”
Pax walks out first with Nick and his boy close behind. I’m last out the door, but first to throw a punch. I take down the bald guy with a single strike to the back of his neck. He whimpers like a little bitch, but my mind is on Nick.
Pax doesn’t stop walking even when Nick talks shit. My brother ignores him and strolls to the Harleys. Giving up, Nick turns and runs at me. I suspect he wants to tackle me. I don’t even think Pax’s morning dump would be so fucking stupid.
Nick runs straight into me and just stops. He’s a big guy at over six feet, but I’m bigger. He’s a mean bastard, but I’m meaner. Life sheds no tears for the underdog and Nick’s old enough to know better.
Dragging him to the street, I hold him still under my boot. Pax hands me the bat.
“We never had a dad to teach us how to play ball,” Pax tells Nick like we’re in therapy or something. “We still managed to get tagged as Slugger and Home Run. I’d say our skills come natural.”
My bat slams down on Nick’s right knee. Pax takes the right shoulder. We work the guy into ground beef. I find this fact pretty funny since the night still smells like hamburgers.
3
Shay
Men Suck
The stranger tells me to call him Lucky. I hadn’t noticed him inside Spanky’s. He’s invisible until pulling his gun on the freak that pulled a knife on me.
By the time Lucky shows up, the freak is already bleeding. He picks a bad day to grab my ass as I’m leaving the club. Long story short, pissing off an angry stripper led me to smashing his face with a rock.
Freak runs off once Lucky pulls the gun. Alone now, I look at my savior and wonder if he’ll want repayment for his help.
In my bad mood, my view on men is simple. They suck. I don’t normally judge them as one size fits all. Of course, I had savings before Camaro Donnie conned my mom out of them. Yeah, all men are evil and I hate them all.
Lucky isn’t so bad. Buying me a cup of coffee in a well-lit shop, he says I’m shaking and should calm down before taking the bus home. No doubt he’s playing me. Probably plans to rape and kill me. Hell, if I’m lucky I’ll get snuffed fast. I’m rarely a lucky chick though.
I drink my free cup of coffee and size him up. He’s in his forties. Attractive maybe. One of his front teeth is chipped, giving him a goofy smile. His brown eyes are clear of drugs, booze, and bad intentions. The guy seems nice and I blab my problems to him.
Mom is a loser. I only stick around for my brothers. They’d be better off in foster care. We never had enough food until I started stripping. Mom mismanages money. Growing up, we got welfare, but she pissed away the food stamps of the first week of the month. We often went hungry when not in school. Most weekends, the local church two blocks fed us. We wore ugly hand me downs. Our apartment was often without electricity, so my brothers did their homework at school. Life sucked until I shook my titties for gross men. Even this wasn’t enough anymore.
“Why not just leave?” Lucky asks in a casual way like I’m blind to the answer in front of me.